


Let the Wind Carry Me Home

by KatieComma



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Fluff, Immortal Husbands Being Cute, M/M, Travelling together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieComma/pseuds/KatieComma
Summary: Joe and Nicky are in a market in Tunis looking for something very specific and just generally being together.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 8
Kudos: 181





	Let the Wind Carry Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote one from Nicky's perspective... it seemed only fair to write one from Joe's... and I just needed to write something random and sweet today.

Joe loves the smells of the marketplace. It’s not necessarily always pleasant, some of the herbs are bitter in the nose, but mostly it’s the warm smell of home. Or what home used to be. Maybe not home, so much, but youth. The smells of herbs never change, not even after 1000 years.

He walks side-by-side with Nicky and they wander slowly through the narrow streets and even narrower passageways full of vendors. They stop occasionally and look over some wares, but they don’t buy anything. They’re here for something in particular.

They don’t hold hands or stand too close. This is still a place in the world where such things are frowned upon, and though it angers Joe, keeping a low profile is more important than causing a fuss.

That little bit of distance between them seems part and parcel to stepping back in time in the Souk El Blat in Tunis. They’ve been coming to this place since they met, and they’ve never been able to touch within its walls. Their passion and tenderness must always wait until they return to their hotel.

In a way, there’s something comforting about being able to come to a place that was built before he was born. Other than ruins, places like this are rare. Joe will sacrifice those stolen moments between them for the ability to come to this place and see things that never change. It’s also a pleasant reminder that some things do change, and walking out of the market again, and back into a world where he’s free to kiss and touch Nicky in public is like a breath of fresh air.

“It’s around this corner, yes?” Nicky asks as they near an intersection. “In this building?”

“I think so,” Joe puzzles. He points to a clothing stall. “This one is new. I don’t remember.”

“I am sure it is this way,” Nicky says, leading the way. He reaches his hand back as though to grab Joe’s, but pulls it back again after only a moment. No one else will have noticed, but Joe does and it warms his heart.

“I think we should go home tomorrow,” Joe says absently as they wind through tight hallways, past vendors with wares set out into the middle of the foot traffic. “I’ve had enough of Tunis for this trip.”

“Are you sure?” Nicky asks, knowing it’s one of Joe’s favourite places. “We can stay longer. We have time.”

Joe stops and shakes his head, meeting Nicky’s eye. “Let’s go home,” he says firmly before he raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’d like to stay.”

Nicky shakes his head and speaks next in Italian: “Home is good.”

With all the money from all the jobs they’ve taken, each of their little group of immortals has places here or there throughout the world that they call home. Flats in London or apartments in Tokyo, or farmhouses in France. Nicky and Joe have a quaint old-fashioned villa on a small island off the coast of Italy. They keep to themselves, and over the years when they encounter locals, Nicky has been told he looks “just like his grandfather” who left the house to him in a will. It makes Joe laugh every time. The paperwork gets more complicated every time they transfer to the deed to a new “inheritor” but it’s worth it.

Looking into Nicky’s eyes, Joe can feel the tug of the ocean wind in his loose linen shirt. He can smell the musky odor of their cachi tree. It’s almost time for the fruit to be ripe. One of Nicky’s favourite times of year.

Joe replies in Italian: “It’s time to go home.”

“One more thing,” Nicky says in Arabic, twitching his barely there smile; the one that lights up his eyes if you know to follow it there. Joe loves it in his soul. It’s so subtle and beautiful just like the rest of Nicky.

Joe follows Nicky further along and then down a smaller, narrower corridor yet.

“I think you’re right,” Joe says, “this is the way. I hope it’s still here.”

“I have always been better with direction than you,” Nicky lets out a single note of laughter.

Joe doesn’t argue, Nicky’s not wrong.

They find the little old shop still open, despite its out of the way location. All the shops in the souks have an ancient feel, even if they’re selling cell phone cases, but this one is older still. The hanging herbs all around and the small worn boxes and vials and bottles all seem as though they’ve been sitting on the shelves for a thousand years, though every time they return the inventory has entirely changed.

The man at the front of the shop looks ancient too, his dark face craggy with years.

Joe speaks in Arabic. He speaks slowly and carefully so as not to fall back into the old fashioned words and phrases he grew up with. “Do you still make the salve? For pain?” He asks.

The old man’s eyes twinkle and he smiles. “Always,” he answers cryptically as he hauls himself up from the stool.

This particular shop, handed down from father to son for so many years Joe can’t remember, is the only place that Andy has ever found with a pain salve she will use. She’s bought every other modern remedy from every pharmacy, and none of them hold a candle to this particular pot of salve that this family has been making with a secret recipe for hundreds of years.

The man teeters through the small shop and digs around on a back shelf behind a large hanging bush of drying herbs. He comes back with a small pot and hands it to Joe, quoting the price.

“More,” Nicky speaks up behind him. “Do you have more?”

The man eyes Nicky sceptically and looks him up and down.

“We have travelled far,” Joe says, drawing the man’s attention back to him. “And we have much farther to go. We will not be back for some years. I would like to buy what you have.”

The old man’s eyes widen a little, but he goes back to the shelf and brings six more pots out to Joe. “This is all I have except for the one I keep under the counter for myself,” he laughs. “But I won’t sell you that one.”

Joe laughs in return and nods to the man. He hands over the money, and stuffs the pots into the bag Nicky’s wearing across his body.

They thank the man and leave the herb-filled air of the little hallway and back into the light of day.

“We should be able to get a ferry tonight, I think,” Joe says. “If we hurry back to the hotel and pack.”

“You’re so eager to leave?” Nicky asks as they navigate their way back out of the souk.

Joe nods. “I’m a little homesick. Let’s go home.”

Nicky nods, lets their fingers brush between them, and then leads the way out of the market. He’s always been better with direction anyway.


End file.
